Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.


I'm a Bowl of Pea Soup Away...

from being Reagan in the Exorcist. My head is spinning so fast, I don't know what the hell is going on. (Although I do have a strange desire to tell Richard Pryor that "[his] mother sews socks in hell.")

Thursday, after a bit of deliberation, and one long, drawn out conversation with our director/benevolent dictator, we decided to close The Little Nonprofit That Could (drive me to become a raging alcoholic). We spent Thursday afternoon in a flurry of activity; calling the newspaper ( in which we were featured LAST Sunday) to cancel our lecture series, letting our guest speakers know we couldn't host them, calling the people who RSVP'd for our open house and deciding our plan of dissolution.
Friday, I wrote a letter for our members, wrote out refund checks, addressed, stamped, stuffed and licked about 700 letters (with the assistance of the indefatigable G Monkey, of course). This used up almost every sheet of paper, and every envelope in the office, I might add. When we left on Friday (I had to work at the codger corral, so I couldn't stay), I was about 100 letters short of completing the mailing. The letter had time sensitive information, letting our members know that The Little Nonprofit That Could (make me justify workplace violence) was closing, and letting us go out with grace and dignity. We asked our Benevolent Dictator to please finish the mailing and, since it was already indicia'd and arranged by Zip code, it merely needed to be dropped off at the post office. I left for my weekend thinking everything was ok. A bit sad, because despite my needing to leave, I thought The Little Nonprofit That Could (make me wish I had an army of bees that shot lasers out of their eyes) would go beyond me. (Ok, and I thought that 2 of the upcoming authors were rather cute, which didn't hurt any either.)

Imagine my surprise and dismay as I breezed into work this morning to find that absolutely nothing had been done with the mailing. Actually, I take it back. something had been done to the mailing. It had been moved off of the table, and onto a big ol' chair. Seething, I finished the mailing, which only took about an hour, loaded it into trays, and got it ready to go. By this time, G Monkey rolled in, and wondered where our benevolent dictator was, and why the hell she didn't finish the mailing. We tried to track down the benevolent dictator (and even went so far as to call Mr. Benevolent Dictator to see if he knew a) where the hell she was or b) if she had said anything to him about perhaps why she hadn't finished the damn mailing. (He was, I am proud to report, his usual toolish self, and was absolutely no help.)

At long last, the Benevolent Dictator rolled in to work. At 11:15. Acting as if nothing had happened last week. In fact, Ol' B.D. decided that maybe she DOES want to keep The Little Nonprofit That Could (seriously harm my mental health) going. She wants to restructure The Little Nonprofit That Could (maybe even kill me), and fundraise, and get a board going (perhaps she even means it this time). And oh-by-the-way, I guess we'll have to do another $*)(!)%_!&$&#(@)! mailing, instead of the one I just did. B.D. then proceeded to insinuate that I was a major reason why she wanted to close The Little Nonprofit That Could (make me cry) in the first place.

Backstory: When I first started at The Little Nonprofit That Could (at one time have made me very happy), I thought I could live on my pittance. I was incorrect, and found that out very quickly. Mamma and Pappa Sauce are wonderful people, but I am rapidly reaching the point of wearing out my welcome. When we originally approached BD about seriously restructuring and imposing budgets etc, I asked for either an increase in salary, or I was going to have to, unfortunately, leave. I am being paid to do receptionist work, when I perform well above and beyond what a receptionist does. (Advertising, marketing, budget, bookeeping, etc.) She met me in the middle for my salary request, shortly after first agreeing to restructure and commit to making things work, to recanting everything. In light of that, I was not comfortable accepting this (knowing that if I did, and would ever leave, I would be "the bad guy") and immediately began putting out resumes.

Apparently my refusal of her offer (which she waited until I was in the middle of lunch with G. Monkey, to ask me if I decided to accept or not, and caught me completely off guard) "Deflated and shocked" her, and the knowledge that I might leave, along with G. Monkey's iteration that she cannot live on her salary, much less ever have a child (especially without health insurance)- and if any other position were offered to G, she would have to take it... these things apparently caused our Benevolent Dictator to want to close up shop. Twice- TWIIIIIIIIICE I tried to explain to BD my reasons for turning down her offer (see above), and she completely ignored me. (Which is unwise, but I held my tongue. Damn near bit it off, but I held it.) And, among other things- it was us who made her call off the lecture series, and for that, WE are the bad guys. We just wanted us to go out with a little dignity, instead of completing another season with wooden smiles, lies, and a whole hell of a lot of discomfort. She dragged out her litany of complaints again, and I left at 12:00-


G. Monkey did set our benevolent dictator straight on a few points this afternoon in my absence. Which is good- she's so good at working with BD. It's really hard for me to not burst out with "Are you fucking KIDDING me" half the time, when we're talking. She told BD that the least she owes me is the opportunity to explain exactly why I turned down her offer, and a few other things. I'm going in late tomorrow, because there may still be nothing for me to do until Friday, when maybe a different mailing will go out. Who knows, by then the Benevolent Dictator may decide that she still wants to close down the Little Nonprofit That Could (cause weeping, gnashing of teeth, lower G.I. problems, and rashes). Then again, she may want to merge us with the local Scientology branch or something. All I know is my resume is getting punched up, new cover letters are being written, and I'll be hitting the pavement until some poor soul takes pity on me, and I can get the hell AWAY from the Little Nonprofit That Could (suck away the very last traces of my will to live).

Current mood: Vengeful
Current goal: gainful employment
Current outlook: wistful

That is all.


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